Heart of Thorns (Shadow Valley U Book 2)
Heart of Thorns: Chapter 26

The high of winning is eclipsed only by the sight of Briar making her way through the crowd. I shrug off Rhys’s arm from around my shoulders and cut a path toward her.

The sweater, skirt, and black tights combo is deadly on her, and I am suddenly grateful that we spent the time on shopping. She wasn’t thrilled for most of it, but at the end… As I told her, it wasn’t about giving her a whole makeover. I like her style, even if it’s overly monochromatic.

It was just about giving my blue-blood parents a hint at wealth.

Or class.

Or what-fucking-ever they decide.

It won’t be enough, of course. They’ll probably take one look at her and make a decision based on something inane. Her hair or makeup or just the way she smiles. Or the limp.

The thought of putting her in an ice bath bubbles to the forefront of my mind. I still need to do that… and make it enjoyable for her.

But then there’s no more time for other thoughts or distractions. There’s just Briar in front of me.

I wrap my arms around her, and hers come around my neck, as I lift her feet off the ground. Her gaze burns into mine for a split second, then our lips crash together.

It sizzles between us, of course, but I’m aware of everything else around us. My teammates and fellow students, the coaching staff, the media. It’s probably why I don’t deepen the kiss, and instead keep it close-lipped.

When we break apart, she gives me a dazzling smile, and I can’t help but mirror it.

“You were fucking incredible,” she tells me.

“Thank you, kitten.”

“Cassius!” A woman’s voice, unmistakably my mother, cuts through the noise.

Briar’s smile tightens.

“Did you meet them?” I ask in Briar’s ear.

“Yeah, it was fine.”

Fine.

I suppress my scoff of disbelief and slowly lower her so her feet touch the ground again. The boots we picked are sensible, at least. Nothing high-heeled—no doubt her knee would protest that, even if it would be sexy as fuck.

Still, I keep my hand on the small of her back when we face my parents.

“Good game, sweetheart,” my mother says. She comes in close.

I lean down and let her press her lips to my cheek. It’s been a while since she was able to reach without assistance. She’s shorter than Briar by at least four inches, and the points of her heels sinking into the grass don’t help.

“Son.”

Dad extends his hand, and I shake it. His grip is always crushing, but this time it seems even more so. He squeezes hard, and I get a glimpse of the anger in his expression.

So he hasn’t calmed down any since our phone call the other week.

Lovely.

“We have reservations in an hour,” he adds. “We’ll meet you out front.”

“Of course.” My fingers tense on Briar’s back. “I’ve got to get changed. Walk with me?”

She glances up at me and nods. I lead her away, stopping only twice for reporters followed by cameramen.

I give run-of-the-mill, media-training answers, and then they let us pass.

“Is it always this hectic?” Briar asks in the tunnel. She keeps glancing around like someone’s going to jump out and grab her.

“What? Yeah, I guess.” I drop my hand from her back. “Are you okay?”

“Of course.”

“You—”

“Thorne!”

I pause and glance back. Stephen McDowell jogs toward us, only slowing when he’s even with Briar and me.

“Nice throw to win it,” he says. “Our defense was sweating when they made that field goal.”

I lift my shoulder. “It happens.”

Stephen eyes Briar. “You escorting your girlfriend to the locker room?”

I force a laugh and shake my head. “No, just giving her an escape route from my parents.”

He sticks his hand out. “Stephen.”

Friends with your slimy ex, I almost say. Patterson has done a good job at avoiding me—and, I think, Briar. At least, she hasn’t said anything else about him showing up or running into her.

“Briar.” She shakes his hand, then quickly withdraws. She wraps her arms around her stomach and stares straight ahead.

“I’ll see you around,” I tell Stephen.

A clear get the fuck out of here.

He takes the hint and hurries on, while I slip my fingers around Briar’s arm and stop her. I press her against the wall and plant my forearm next to her head, leaning in.

“You’re jumpy, kitten.”

She’s looking everywhere but at me. I put my finger under her chin and direct her face up toward mine.

“Just, uh, I don’t want to be seen by the wrong people.”

The wrong people?

Seen? With me?

I drop my hand and step back. Hurt ricochets through me, louder than it should. Who are the wrong people? The whole point of us was to be seen…

But that was my plan, wasn’t it?

“Come on.” My voice comes out more gruff. “There’s a room you can wait in up ahead that’ll be out of sight.”

She follows along behind me. “I didn’t mean it like that.”

I shake my head. I don’t know how she could’ve not meant it. I direct her to the assistant equipment manager’s office and leave her there. It’s been unoccupied since the summer, so I doubt anyone will accidentally walk in on her.

Then, pushing aside the sudden bad taste in my mouth, I head into the locker room to prepare for what will probably be the most awkward dinner of my life.

My mother hasn’t stopped talking.

The restaurant we’re in is nice. It has a Michelin Star—or two or three, I don’t know—and the service has been top-notch. The lighting is bright, the chatter amongst other tables a low babble in the background of my mother’s rambling.

We’re doing courses. Five of them.

The server returns with the first, which is a cold soup. I missed the cold detail, though, so when I blew on my spoon, my father glared at me. And then I put it in my mouth and realized… and almost gagged.

Mom’s steady chatter provided a commentary on what life has been like back home. An interior decorator and her crew were in for their seasonal change. The house decor has to match, after all, and we’re quickly slipping into winter.

“And we’re so excited to have you join us for Christmas, Briar,” my mother adds.

Briar chokes.

I mentally curse. I probably should’ve mentioned that.

“That remains to be seen,” Father interjects. “Christmas is a long time away.”

I grit my teeth. “I thought it was your idea to have us home for the holidays, Dad.”

He waves his hand and picks up his glass of wine. “Well, that was before I met Brianna, Cassius.”

Briar lifts her chin. “It’s Briar.”

“Briar,” Mom repeats, glancing at her husband. “A lovely name. I’m sure he’ll have it down by Christmas. So, tell me, do you go to all of our son’s games?”

My fake girlfriend sets down her silverware. Her soup bowl is empty.

Only four more courses to go.

“I try to go to all of them, yes,” she answers. “And my friends and I saw a few of his practices.”

“How lovely,” my mom echoes. “Do you have any hobbies of your own?”

“Mom,” I whisper.

She frowns. “What?”

“You—”

“It’s okay.” Briar rests her hand on my wrist. “I understand what you meant by that, Mrs. Thorne. I do have hobbies of my own.”

“Hobbies are important.” My father meets my gaze. “Hobbies like football are great for exercise. And luckily, Cassius chose to be a quarterback, which lends to his excellent leadership abilities. That’s why we allow it, quite frankly.”

My chest tightens, and my attention falls to my now-empty bowl of cold, shitty soup. Before I can come up with a retort, the server has returned to clear the table. They whisk away the empty bowls and return with a fresh bottle of wine.

Football is not a hobby.

It never has been.

Briar’s fingers drum on my wrist, lightly, dragging my attention over to her. She flicks her hair over her shoulder and smiles at me.

She’s calm in the face of all of this. But why shouldn’t she be? At the end, when this is over—when our fake relationship has run its course—I will be stuck with my asshole parents, and she’ll get to walk away.

And I hate that.

The next course and the third pass with little incident.

It’s between the third and fourth course that their conversation turns back to us.

Well, Briar.

“You mentioned hobbies.” Father focuses on Briar. “What exactly are those?”

She sits up straighter. “I paint. And I used to play hockey.”

“Hockey,” he repeats slowly.

“Painting,” Mom interrupts. “What kind of painting? Portraits? We hire a wonderful artist every few years to give us an updated family portrait. Of course, getting Cassius to sit still long enough was always the challenge…”

“She painted the locker room mural,” I say quietly. “It came out beautiful.”

“Thanks,” she whispers. To my parents, she adds, “It goes along with the art degree.”

They both pause.

“Art degree?” Mom tilts her head to the side, narrowing in on Briar.

The thing about my mother… she’s fickle. She has a kind heart sometimes. Like maybe, initially, she gave Briar a chance. But as soon as she hears something she doesn’t like, a switch flips.

“Yes.” Briar raises an eyebrow. “I know it’s not very practical, but I decided to focus on doing something I love.”

My heart squeezes.

“Well,” Mom pats at the corner of her mouth with her napkin. “I suppose your taste in men will make up for that… salary difference. If this is the lifestyle you’re going to accustom yourself with, attaching yourself to the Thorne name.”

“Mom.”

She ignores me, focused on Briar. “At least the women in our circles know what they’re getting into.”

“That’s enough,” I say. “Briar knows what she’s getting into with me. But I should’ve better warned her about you.”

“I’m fine,” Briar says softly. “I know what I want to do with my life, and I am free to do it.”

“Your parents must be very…”

“Supportive,” Briar finishes.

“Of course, dear.” Mom turns to me. “Cassius, I completely forgot. I ran into Vanessa Keenland and her daughter, Cynthia, when I was getting my nails done earlier this week. Cynthia was asking about you.”

I stare at her. “I… okay.”

“I’m just saying. For when this blows over, you know, it didn’t scare her away. She was saying what a gentleman you were on your date, and I know that sometimes you go too hard in the wooing department, especially if you bring them home after⁠—”

My face heats. “I don’t⁠—”

“Oh, it’s fine, honey, we know you’re an active young man. Your father was the same way your age.”

Gross.

Briar wrinkles her nose and slowly sets her napkin on the table. “Excuse me, I’m just going to use the ladies’ room.”

She gets up and strides away from the table, and it takes everything in me to not leap up and follow her.

“Can you at least pretend to be nice?” I lean forward. “Would it kill you?”

“I just don’t see what the big deal is.” My mother’s expression sharpens. “She’s an art major? What do her parents do, Cassius? Work in retail?”

I recoil.

“I’ll be right back,” I snap. I toss my napkin down and head in the direction Briar went. The bathrooms are down a darker hallway, and I pause in front of the first door. It’s open, revealing a single-person one.

Which means she’s in the other.

Without thinking, I go to the closed door and rap my knuckles against the painted wood.

“Briar? It’s Thorne. Let me in.”

Silence.

She could totally be rejecting me right now. She could wait me out—how long would I stay here? Looking a little desperate or a lot foolish?

But then the door knob turns, and it swings inward.

I immediately step inside, all the anger of sitting there listening to my parents shit bubbling up.

Briar’s expression is resolute. Her jaw clenched, her lips pressed together.

Can’t have that.

I approach her, and she backs away. I feel feral, but my hand is gentle when it reaches for her. My palm settles on her throat, and I continue to walk her to the far wall. Her heartbeat thrums against my fingers.

“Are you mad at me?”

She exhales. “No.”

“Maybe you should take it out on me anyway.”

I kiss her before she can reply. I kiss her until her lips part for me, and my tongue can sweep into her perfect mouth. I withdraw and bite her lower lip, tugging until she gives me a reaction.

A groan.

My fingers tense on her throat, and she makes another noise. Something caught between a whimper and a moan.

“What are we doing?” she asks, her lips brushing mine.

“Just a little balm,” I reply, my voice too ragged. She tears me to pieces without even trying. “Let me make us both feel better so we can go back out there together. Okay?”

“Okay.”

So that’s exactly what I do.